The Gentleman's Scandalous Bride

by Lauren Royal

  “It’s Kit, isn’t it?” Lily suddenly guessed.

  “No,” Rose denied quickly, then sighed at Lily’s perceptive gaze and added, “How did you know?”

  “I’ve both eyes and ears in my head. You’re surprisingly familiar with his projects, and you cannot deny you thought him handsome the day you met. And he was drawn to you, too. I was there, if you’ll remember. And he is not totally unsuitable.”

  “I want to love the duke,” Rose wailed.

  “Sometimes,” Violet said softly, “we cannot choose these things.”

  All three of them sighed in unison.

  Lily reached to cover Rose’s hands where she’d clenched them together in her lap. “At least Mum isn’t trying to match you with Kit,” she offered with forced cheerfulness.

  “That’s right,” Violet said. The one thing they’d all agreed on, from the time they were small girls, was that they didn’t want any part of their mother’s matchmaking schemes. “She’s taking you to Hampton Court to spend more time with the duke.”

  “But she invited Kit here,” Rose realized suddenly. “And to supper in London.”

  “True,” Violet conceded. “But she probably just wanted to make sure he got started on Father’s greenhouse.”

  “Oh, you’re probably right. Plus she’s taken a liking to Kit’s sister. Perhaps she felt sorry for Ellen and invited her to the town house to cheer her up. Kit would naturally have had to come along.”

  “That makes sense,” Lily agreed.

  Rose breathed a sigh of relief. If it turned out Mum was trying to marry her off to Kit, she’d have to stop seeing him. Once her mother got something like that into her head, the pressure would be unbearable.

  Not that Rose had decided she did want to keep seeing Kit.

  She just wasn’t ready to decide that she didn’t.

  FORTY-TWO

  AT FORD’S suggestion, the young men took their brandy in Lady Trentingham’s perfumery. Ever the scientist, Ford tinkered with the distillery he’d made for his mother-in-law, searching for a reported leak. Rand reclined in a green velvet chair, sipping his drink.

  Kit paced.

  The contraption Ford was working on, and the large utilitarian table on which it sat, looked out of place in the otherwise elegant room. Kit ran a hand down the silk and linen brocatelle wall-coverings. “How is married life?” he asked Rand.

  “Splendid,” Rand said, looking nauseatingly relaxed.

  Feeling decidedly unrelaxed, Kit gazed up at the black and gold cornice around the plastered ceiling. A fine display of workmanship. Something like it would look magnificent in the apartments he was building for the Duchess of Cleveland at Hampton Court, not to mention in his own house in Windsor.

  “You should try it,” Rand added.

  “Marriage?” Kit looked down to his old friend. “If I have my way, I believe I will.”

  “What?” Rand half bolted out of the chair.

  “Sit,” Kit said.

  Frowning, Ford removed a lid and disconnected a copper tube. “Whom are you hoping to wed?”

  Kit took a deep breath. ”Your sister-in-law. Rose.”

  Ford looked up, astonished. “Rose?”

  “Rose?” Rand echoed. He gulped a swallow of brandy. “I knew you thought her pretty, but—”

  “She’s very pretty.” Kit’s tone brooked no argument. “But more than that, she’s extraordinary. She saved my sister’s life. And she wants to travel, as I do—and can even speak the language when we get there.”

  Ford looked at him through a large glass bulb that was part of the device. “When you get where?”

  Shrugging, Kit stooped to examine the marble fireplace. “Rome, Florence, France…wherever.”

  “If all you want is a translator, you can hire a linguist.” Rand set his goblet on a small inlaid table. “I’ve students who would jump at a chance to spend a summer—”

  “I’d rather spend it with Rose. I think…I think I might love her.” Kit straightened, still facing the fireplace. “She’s fun and beautiful and bright, and something about her just…” He trailed off, realizing how he must sound to these well-bred, aristocratic men.

  Like a delusional, babbling idiot.

  He turned to catch the two brothers-in-law exchanging a look. Ford raised a single brow. “He said the L word.”

  Rand nodded. “So I heard.”

  Kit reddened. “Look, I know what you’re thinking. I’m a nobody, and she’s—”

  “Whoa,” Rand said indignantly. “That’s not what I was thinking.”

  “Me neither.” Ford held up his hands in a gesture of innocence.

  “Well, it’s what Rose thinks,” Kit said flatly. “But that could all change. If I’m awarded the Deputy Surveyor post and a knighthood—”

  “You’re sure she cares about all that?” Ford crossed his arms. “I mean, I know she’s Rose, but she’s still an Ashcroft. They’re a rather open-minded lot.”

  “Unconventional,” Rand corrected.

  Ford smiled. “That too.”

  “I’m sure she cares about that.” Kit ran his fingers across a rack of little glass vials, all neatly labeled. LAVENDER, LILAC, MUSK. He plucked out the one that said ROSE. “Lady Trentingham told me herself.”

  “Oh,” Ford said, the single syllable full of meaning. “You’re working with the mother, then?”

  Kit whipped around, his fingers clenching the vial. “What do you mean?” he asked nervously. Would Ford reveal Kit’s deception to Rose? She was his sister-in-law, after all, while Ford had met Kit only a couple of times.

  “I mean that Lady Trentingham is helping you win her daughter’s affections.” Ford grinned. “Don’t look so guilty. The countess helped me, too, you know.”

  Rand made a choking sound that suggested he’d nearly spat out his drink. When he was finished coughing, he looked up at Ford through the ends of his longish hair. “She helped you?”

  “Of course. She gave me advice when I was having trouble persuading Violet to marry me.” Ford cocked his head. “Did she not do the same for you?”

  “No!” As Rand wiped his mouth with a handkerchief, his brow furrowed. “Except…well, she did leave Lily and me alone together an awful lot. And she kept Rose away—”

  He suddenly stopped, exchanging another look with Ford.

  Sensing an odd tension in the room, Kit glanced between the two of them. “What?” When neither answered, he narrowed his eyes. “What were you saying about Rose?”

  Since his friend remained guiltily silent, it was Ford who finally explained. “Rose sort of…used to fancy Rand.”

  Kit swallowed hard. “Really?”

  “Only a little,” Rand rushed to add. “Nothing happened between us.”

  “Nothing?” There seemed to be an odd rushing sound filling Kit’s ears. “Then how do you know she had feelings for you?”

  “Oh.” Rand looked flustered. “She may have, um—just once—cornered me in the summerhouse and asked for a kiss.”

  The rushing grew louder. Rose had a habit of asking Kit for kisses, too. He’d believed there was something special between them, but what if she’d had the same feelings for Rand—Kit’s best friend?

  “When?” he heard himself asking.

  “Over the summer.” When Rand chanced a look at Kit’s face, what he saw there seemed to alarm him. “But honestly it seems a lifetime ago. I’m married to Lily now, and Rose and I are just like brother and sister.”

  “He’s telling the truth, man,” Ford put in, bent over the distillery again. “There was nothing between them—or nothing of consequence, anyway.” He replaced a copper tube with a little snap. “Rand had already been pining for Lily for years—”

  “I wouldn’t say pining,” Rand grumbled.

  Ford rolled his eyes. “I would. And for Rose’s part, she was simply in a husband-hunting mood when Rand happened to be the first eligible gentleman to come along.”

  Kit grunted, remembering all the eli
gible gentlemen she’d been kissing at court. “That does sound like Rose,” he had to admit.

  “But listen, Martyn.” Ford glanced up from his task. “Her mother obviously thinks you two are right for each other, or else she wouldn’t be helping you. And with her assistance, I’d say the odds are in your favor. After all”—he gestured to himself and Rand—“she’s two for two so far.”

  “Apparently so,” Rand said ruefully, swirling his brandy.

  “I hope you’re right, Lakefield.” Though Kit’s tone was grim, the encouragement had given him a little surge of confidence. Retrieving his own brandy from a marble-topped table, he took a healthy gulp. “The girl’s got half the bachelors at court panting after her, including a blasted duke. My only ray of hope is that his grace is reportedly a lousy kisser.”

  As the others laughed, feminine laughter drifted from upstairs.

  Rand smiled. “Our ladies seem to be enjoying themselves.”

  “Where is everyone else?” Kit wondered suddenly.

  “Jewel and Rowan are probably off somewhere planning a fiendish prank.” Rand downed the rest of his drink.

  “No doubt.” Ford straightened, dusting off his hands. “The younger children were put to bed.”

  “And Lord and Lady Trentingham?”

  “In bed as well.”

  Excellent. Perhaps Kit could manage to sneak off and get Rose on her own. And hopefully make a little more progress toward convincing her they were meant to be.

  “Don’t even think about it.”

  Kit looked around to see Rand grinning at him. “Trust me, Kit, you’ll never tear her away from her sisters.”

  “Thick as thieves, those three.” Lifting his empty cup, Ford moved toward the brandy jug. “Especially during their sleeping parties.”

  “Very well.” Kit shrugged, masking his disappointment. “Another drink, gentlemen?”

  FORTY-THREE

  CHRYSTABEL slid beneath the counterpane in her bedchamber, happily resting her head on her husband’s shoulder.

  Joseph kissed her forehead. “Two weeks.”

  “Pardon?”

  “You were gone nearly two weeks. It’s the longest you’ve ever been gone from me.”

  Chrystabel laughed softly. “You leave me for several weeks every year when you go to Tremayne.”

  She felt him shrug. ”That seems different somehow.”

  “Because you’re the one leaving and busy.” She knew he had to go, that Tremayne, a castle near the Welsh border, was as much his responsibility as Trentingham or his duty to Parliament. But that didn’t mean she liked it. “Now that the girls are grown, perhaps I’ll come along. And bring Rowan,” she said, warming to the idea. “After all, he’s now Lord Tremayne. He should learn the ins and outs of running the estate.”

  “An excellent notion, Chrysanthemum.”

  Her husband’s breathing was slowing, his head beginning to loll. She had always envied the way he could go straight to sleep the moment he climbed into bed. Meanwhile, she’d lay awake for long minutes—sometimes hours—her mind churning with thoughts of the day past and plans for the day to come. She’d never figured out what made them so different.

  “I’ll have to leave again, though,” she said mournfully. “Soon.”

  His eyes opened halfway. “Hmm?”

  “Rose is so close to making the right decision. Another few days at court ought to convince her there’s no one there meant to share her life.”

  “Mmm.” His arms snaked around her, pinning her securely against his warmth.

  “I’m quite disappointed, though, that she hasn’t found a moment here to go off with Kit. Lily and Violet are monopolizing her—perhaps I was shortsighted to invite them.” She gave an expressive sigh, wiggling herself into a more comfortable position within the circle Joseph’s arms. “I believe I shall have to wait until they all turn in for the night and then devise a way to get Rose and Kit out of their beds for a short while. I imagine he’ll be leaving in the morning for Hampton Court. Perhaps we’ll wait a few days before following…give Rose some time to miss him. What do you think, darling?”

  Her husband’s answer was a soft snore. He was fast asleep.

  Oh, well. She was quite used to plotting these things without him. Men were dear creatures, but the vast majority of them didn’t seem to have much of an imagination.

  After conceiving her strategy, she dozed until the voices and giggles died down, signaling all were abed. Joseph had rolled over, leaving her free to slip out of bed without disturbing him. Tying a wrapper over her night rail, she padded across the chamber in her bare feet, her toes curling at the chill in the stone floor.

  The house was amazingly quiet. Rose’s room was right beyond hers, so Chrystabel tiptoed to the door and tapped her fingernails against it—rat-a-tat-tat. Then she moved to the door of the room she’d assigned to Kit and did the same thing.

  Nothing. Rose was a heavy sleeper, and Kit must be, too. She tapped on both their doors again, then a third time. Finally, the sound of a latch sent her scurrying back to her room. Suppressing a giddy giggle, she pulled the door shut behind her—but not quite all the way.

  Her ear pressed to the slit of an opening, she heard someone pad into the corridor and knock loudly on another door.

  “Rowan!” came a harsh whisper. Then louder, “Rowan, open up!”

  It was Jewel’s voice, not Rose’s. Chrystabel sighed as she listened.

  Another door opened. “What?” Rowan demanded rather ungraciously.

  “I heard a noise.”

  “What kind of noise?” he asked through a yawn.

  “I’m not sure. Maybe a ghost.”

  That idea was greeted by a snort. “There are no ghosts at Trentingham.”

  “I heard something, Rowan! Listen, will you?”

  A long spell passed where there was no sound. Of course, Chrystabel wasn’t tapping on doors.

  “It was nothing,” Rowan said at last. “Go back to bed.”

  “I’m afraid of ghosts. I cannot sleep. Will you stay with me?”

  “I cannot visit your chamber in the middle of the night. That wouldn’t be proper.” Even at the tender age of ten, Rowan knew that.

  Good boy, his mother thought.

  “What if I hear it again?”

  The boy’s sigh would have done a grown man justice. “Are you hungry?”

  Jewel seemed to consider that question a moment. “I suppose I am.”

  “Maybe it was your stomach rumbling. Let’s go downstairs and find something to eat.”

  Chrystabel waited until their footfalls had proceeded down the staircase before easing open her door. It seemed neither Rose nor Kit had awakened even with Rowan and Jewel talking outside their rooms. Something louder than those benign little taps would be necessary.

  She scratched her fingernails down the front of Rose’s door, a nice, satisfying scrape as she raked down the carved linenfold design. After repeating the motion, she moved to Kit’s door and did it twice more.

  Hearing a latch again, she darted back into her room.

  “Just take a look, Rand! There must be something there. I cannot sleep with these noises!” It was Lily this time, Chrystabel realized with more than a little frustration. “Do you see anything?”

  “Nothing. Would you like to come and look for yourself?”

  “No,” Lily said. “But those sounds cannot come from nowhere.”

  “Houses settle. You told me there have been no ghosts at Trentingham in the past, and there’s no reason to believe one would suddenly arrive now. Hang it, now that you’ve wakened me, I’m hungry. Shall we go downstairs and find something to eat?”

  For a brand-new son-in-law, Rand certainly felt at home here, Chrystabel thought wryly. While she waited for them to start downstairs, she looked around her chamber for something that would make more noise.

  Her silver comb ought to do it. She snatched it up and peeked out her door. All was clear.

  Drawn sidewa
ys across the wooden linenfold grooves, the comb made quite a racket. It wasn’t long at all before the click of another latch sent her to safety behind her own door.

  “There’s no such thing as ghosts,” she heard Ford say.

  She barely stifled a groan.

  A long minute or two passed while she listened to footsteps pacing up and down the corridor. Ford, the scientific one, was a much more thorough ghost-hunter than either of his brothers-in-law. “All’s clear,” she finally heard him tell Violet. “I swear it. You hungry? Let’s go downstairs and find something to eat.”

  Slumped against the door, Chrystabel pictured her oldest daughter slipping from her childhood bed and into a wrapper. Joseph snored peacefully behind her, and Rose apparently still slept in her room. Vexing girl must take after her father.

  By the time Violet and Ford clattered down the steps—being none too quiet about it—Chrystabel had decided drastic measures were in order. Leaving the comb behind, she ventured once more into the corridor.

  She paused by Rose’s door, then pushed down on the latch and opened it a smidgen. “Whooooooooo,” she called inside, a breathy, piercing whistle.

  The fourth child of five, Chrystabel had long ago mastered the art of impersonating an eerie apparition. How better to get back at her older sisters than by scaring them silly? It was a far more lasting retribution than pinching or hair-pulling.

  “Whooooooooo,” she called twice more for good measure, then hurried to Kit’s room.

  “Whooooooooo. Whooooooooo.” She’d drawn breath for another exhalation when footsteps sounded in Rose’s room down the corridor.

  She barely made it back into her own chamber before her daughter’s door slammed open. “What was that? Who’s there?”

  Unlike her sisters, Rose didn’t sound scared. Her voice wasn’t tentative and frightened. Aggravated would better describe it.

  Rose’s footfalls paced the corridor up and halfway back before Chrystabel heard another door opening. Kit’s, thank goodness. It had to be—his was the only occupied room left.